


Finding Time

by alianovna_grant



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Based from The Perfect Score (movie), F/M, Fluff, Friendly Competion, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, High School Rivalry, Overachievers AU, School Paper Editors, Smart and Nerdy, Steve POV, Ultra Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alianovna_grant/pseuds/alianovna_grant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That they were bound to happen no matter how hard he saw her as the bane of his existence."</p><p>***</p><p>Steve decided it was high time he asked their class valedictorian out for some coffee.<br/>High School AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was intended to be a drabble but stuff just came up, as per usual.
> 
> Based from stills from The Perfect Score (2004) which stars Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson.
> 
> Heavily inspired by my time in campus journalism and just being an all-around nerd in high school. 
> 
> Special thanks again to my friend Meg for her insights and Romanogers love. You're the best! <3
> 
> Again, comments and suggestions are highly appreciated! :D

When Steve asked Natasha Romanoff if she wanted to go out for coffee he wasn’t quite sure what her response would be.

They were going over the articles for the next issue of the school paper, one of the rare Tuesdays that they were able to sync their schedules after school. He usually had lacrosse practice or some AP thing, or meetings with the student council taking up most of his after school hours at the moment. Her schedule was a lot more hectic he believed, he rarely even saw her at lunch so being able to do their responsibilities as both editors-in-chief of the paper at the same time was a miraculous feat.

When the school year started they agreed that one of them had to always be present during the meetings and so the task of lining up their calendars to meet this requirement wasn’t always the easiest, but they’d been able to manage, and manage it _beautifully_ , they did. He truly believed that if it were any other two people in their position, they would have had the whole set-up blow up in their faces, but he and Natasha both shared a stubborn streak a mile wide and they simply refused the notion of failing at anything without putting up a fight.

In fact, there was a bulletin board in the school paper’s office that was supposed to be for the whole staff’s use but somewhere along the way it became a way for them to communicate when the other wasn’t around. It became an elaborate display board filled with multi-colored Post-It notes, pictures, and haphazardly tacked doodles and ideas that could rival any police show on TV (it would even have string sometimes to link articles or pictures together like the ones they use to track dead bodies on said TV shows). They were the only ones who understood the way it worked and most of the editorial staff had long ago given up trying to decipher it so it kind of became _their_ board, a way to talk to each other when the other wasn’t available and it was a little wild to be honest but it was also magnificent to look at--it sort of became their _thing_.

So Tuesday school paper meetings (when they did manage to meet), were sacred.

It was crazy to think that the class valedictorian, which was _Natasha_ , and the class salutatorian, which was _him_ (he was okay with it, really), would agree to share the same mantle. It wasn’t common, but not unheard of for two people to become both at the same time. Despite the inherent difficulties that that situation would present, the both of them sharing the position somehow, _worked_. He had to admit that being co-editor-in-chief didn’t sound as impressive as being editor-in-chief when you cite it in your college applications. It didn’t really have the same ring to it, the same awe-inspiring quality of being sole editor which college admissions usually had a hard-on for. If he were to be honest with himself he really didn’t care at this point. He and Natasha were a great team and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was more than that really, they were actually brilliant together.

If they were pettier people they probably would’ve fought Mr. Coulson when he’d made the decision to make them both the editors and make him choose only one, but they’ve been part of the school paper since freshman year and they’ve both seen each other’s dedication, seen each other work their asses off for the sake of the publication that it really didn’t bother them too much to share the same title. Mr. Coulson had said that they both provided great insight and invaluable talent to make the paper the best that it could be which they didn’t argue with. He commented that they were being mature about it which the older man had praised profusely.

He was a lot more interested in the layouting, graphics, and the artistic aspects of the paper, and she was a lot more particular with the content and the investigative side of things so the situation worked for them favorably. They had an understanding of sorts, he trusted her judgment about the articles they would pursue and publish and she trusted him with what looked great and what was aesthetically pleasing. They balanced each other out, their adviser had said, and they understood it, they didn’t say anything about it since.

People always assumed that he and Natasha were fiercely competitive of each other. It probably started freshman year when they _were actually_ fiercely competitive of each other. He kind of resented her in the beginning when she showed up from some obscure charter school from D.C. all academically advanced than most of them. His ego (as his middle school’s valedictorian) was slightly affronted (which doesn’t make any sense now, but he was a stupid kid) by the arrival of this dazzlingly smart and well-rounded individual who could give him a run for his money. She was the whole package, whip smart, civically oriented, and gorgeous to boot (he didn’t like to focus on the last part too much back then). He’d never had such worthy competition before and it shook him to his core.

They had almost all of the same classes together, with him trying to one-up her in every quiz and exam, even going through the trouble of doing the extra credit assignments which he never did before (he had his limits). Every point he’d earned above hers was an achievement, it was a challenge through and through, and when she’d caught wind of this one-sided competition, she’d thrown down the gauntlet whole-heartedly. The first two years of their high school rivalry was brutal, he’d spend nights reading three to five chapters in advance just to keep up with her. He had to participate in more extracurricular activities, joining mathletes as well as the crew team _and_ the football team.

_It was exhausting._

When junior year rolled around, for some inexplicable reason they started laying off of each other. He began complimenting her more and she became less antagonistic towards him. They came to realize that no one was better than the other and reached a stalemate of sorts that has lasted to this day. At some point he did relent, he just couldn’t keep up with her (he didn’t want to spend the rest of high school caught up in some stupid rivalry and he’d rather spend the night actually sleeping to be honest) and accepted the fact that she was in a different league altogether. He didn’t feel bad about it, he was still salutatorian after all.

But they did a great job of perpetuating the rivalry to this day, goading and teasing each other with their academic capabilities like it was still freshman year, like it was a joke only the two of them knew about (or cared about for that matter). Some people actually believed that they hated each other when the truth was they held each other in very high regard. They respected each other, knowing that no other person could ever be a worthy opponent for them as the other person was.

When he thought about it, they were actually kind of friends, so much so that they would send each other scanned copies of their notes via email (hers were meticulously written and color-coded) when the other was unavailable to attend classes (like that time when he joined a week long national student council conference as president of their school’s council) and would give each other their playlists for studying (he insisted that there was more than classical music to study to and she took a liking to Phoenix when he added a few of their songs in his mix). Maybe it was natural, for them to fall into this unlikely friendship when they ran in the same circles, participated in the same things and were passionate about similar subjects and causes. He had to admit that their similar desire for excellence and unfaltering drive would often times be alienating to the other kids who simply didn’t understand their ambitions. Natasha understood though, she felt the same pressures as he did. They were kindred spirits, a two-man team, in a weird and twisted way that only being in high school would allow.

His friends would always try to ask him if there was something going on with him and the red head and he would vehemently deny anything other than a platonic relationship with her. They were just friends, he swore to them, but they found it hard to believe because she was such a babe (their choice of words, not his, despite it being true) and anyone who had a shot at her would be a fool to not make their move. With him being _a_ someone who had direct contact with her, shared the same loony interests with and with just being in her general vicinity most of the time (it seemed like they thought of her as some unattainable mythical creature, which was somewhat true, _just a little_ ) they thought of him as that _fool_. And unfortunately, some of his other friends, _the ones who should mind their own goddamn business_ , would ask him what it was like to play second fiddle to Natasha, who was technically smarter than him by GPA standards by only two points (but that honestly didn’t bug him), which he would answer as sincerely and honestly as he can with a shrug and smile and by saying that it was an honor playing second fiddle to her and that he wouldn’t allow it if it were any other person. 

It was what he truly felt, he’d accepted that fact long ago, that competing with her was futile and it was a hell of a lot better to be her friend and watch her take on the world.  Somewhere between seeing her struggle with her parent’s divorce junior year and her best friend Clint moving away to Iowa this year, it was just astounding to see her get past all her personal issues and not letting any of it get in the way of her being a _badass_. It was definitely a sight to see.

He remembers the time when his best friend Bucky told him back when they were sophomores that it would only be a matter of time before he and Natasha would become a _thing_. That they were bound to happen no matter how hard he saw her as the bane of his existence, he explained to him (in which he responded with a scoff and an eye roll at that time because again, he was a stupid kid). Bucky insisted that they were so different and so alike at the same time that it was a little scary _and_ creepy, but ultimately _made a whole lot of sense_.

And now as he was smiling while reading Natasha’s incoherent ramblings about possibly doing a feature on a bunch of school alumni who gave significant contributions to the community on one of the pink Post-It notes she deemed as the “Ideas” tag, he couldn’t help but go back to Bucky’s words. About the two of them being bound to happen. He didn’t think Bucky had psychic abilities of any kind (not that he would disclose it, anyhow) but now, as he looked at her neat hand-writing, meticulously compressed in the tiny piece of paper, he couldn’t help but feel a little silly. He was actually regarding it like it was some brilliant masterpiece that could rival F. Scott Fitzgerald.

 _Jesus, a pink Post-It note, really, Steve?_ He thought to himself.

But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but feel warm at the thought of her. This _clever_ , _neurotic_ , _competitive_ , _stubborn_ , _beautiful_ girl who was beginning to mean _more_ to him than just a competitor, _more_ than just a friend. Could she possibly _feel_ the same way?

So when she was asking him if he also liked the idea of updating the paper’s layout with the frenzied look she would get whenever she was excited about something, with bright eyes brimming with uncontained excitement, smile wide and infectious, he just had to ask her. It was worth a shot.

 _Here goes nothing_.

“Hmmm?” she hums, half paying attention, looking through a pile of pictures that would be possible contenders for the front page. Her ponytail was a little skewed, her curls escaping from where it was gathered at the nape of her neck, soft tendrils framing her small face. _She looked beautiful_.

“I asked you if you wanted to maybe grab some coffee tomorrow after school…you know, hang out somewhere without teachers?” he laughs, trying to sound casual despite the fact that his heart was beating wildly against his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, his nerves eating at him from the inside.

She takes a second to gather her thoughts and when she finally gazes at him she has this quizzical look on her face, a look of curiosity and amusement. “Are you sure, Steve? Don’t you have lacrosse or soccer or whatever sport you’re participating in at the moment occupying your afternoon slot?” her lips quirking into a smirk. That sly smile he’s all too familiar with.

“Come on, when was the last time you actually did something after school that wasn’t _part_ of school?” he asks her, returning a smirk of his own. He was starting to believe that it would be easier to ask Natasha to study together than just asking her out for coffee then she wouldn’t be asking any questions. He actually thought that she enjoyed making him squirm.

“Are you implying that you are not a willing participant in this vicious cycle of after school extra-curriculars?” she teases him, an eyebrow arched questioningly.

He laughs at this, at their situation, about them being the only two people in this entire school who’d be able to joke about it. Their lack of a social life shouldn’t be so funny but it was, because they were ridiculous people who didn’t know when to quit and they were the only ones who were laughing about it. 

“I get your point,” he starts, “but it wouldn’t hurt either one of us to just go out, enjoy our youth while we’re young.” he reasons with her, fake determination plastered on his face inciting a chuckle from the other.

She looks at him intently. She takes in a breath and was just about to say something when he chimes in. “Come on, Nat. It’s just coffee. It would do us both some good to just relax for a little while, don’t you think?” he smiles at her, the kind of smile his mother had told him ever since he was a kid that would let him get away with just about anything. He hopes it works. “Please?” he adds, just for safe measure. 

She rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head and stares at him for just a beat. He couldn’t believe an invitation for coffee would feel so monumental but it did. He was practically sweating bullets.

But what she says takes him completely by surprise.

“Would this be a date?” she asks this so softly he didn’t quite catch it easily. She was fiddling with the pencil she was holding trying to avoid his gaze. He’d never seen her act like this way before, so self-conscious, almost shy.

He feels his heart melt at the thought, Natasha Romanoff flustered over the notion of a date. She slayed on debates, danced in front of hundreds of people, won oratorical contests like it was nothing, but her reaction over the thought of going out with someone just about did him in. Come to think of it, he’d never heard her date anybody in the four years he’d known her, and he understood that. Navigating high school was difficult enough with all that they’ve got on their plates and dating would be daunting. Also, finding someone who would accept that was difficult enough, he knew that well. Natasha probably didn’t get asked out a lot, just because most guys in their grade thought that she was way beyond their league and thus unfit to date the great Natasha Romanoff. He understood where it stemmed from, why she would feel so wary at the thought. He suddenly feels a little protective of her, it was insane but he couldn’t shake off the feeling.

He taps her shoulder, urging her to look back at him and she does. “Do you want it to be?” he asks, grinning at her widely, as if beckoning her with his mind to say yes.

She nods at him, that familiar smirk lining her face once more and he can’t help but feel grateful that she was taking a chance on him. “Okay,” she tells him, “But I can’t promise I’ll be on time.” Scribbling on a yellow Post-It note, “and I prefer tea.” she finishes.

He couldn’t do anything but return her smile, as a companionable silence settles over them, just like before, but he couldn’t help but relish the excitement and anticipation that was cackling between them now. The promise of what’s in store, at least tomorrow was a start.

-

“I’m so sorry I didn’t think I would be this late!” she says hurrying inside the coffee shop, sweaty and out of breath, clutching the back pack that was beginning to fall from her shoulders.

He’d been waiting two hours for her. He texted her five times, called her twice, to no avail. He was actually worried that something might have happened to her on the way here but he also couldn’t deny the fact that he might have just been stood up by Natasha Romanoff so seeing her in front him looking harried and apologetic was a relief.

“My phone died, and I forgot my charger plus ballet rehearsals ran later than usual and I didn’t know how to contact you and…“ She was still wearing her dance clothes over her favorite black  leather jacket and military boots and she looked like one of those models off duty. She must have sprinted as soon as her practice was over. She looked like she did something atrocious with the way she was being so remorseful. Her voice was trembling a little from regret, hands going off in different directions while explaining. He couldn’t help but stare at her more intently in this state, he couldn’t help but appreciate her even more whilst frayed, because she managed to still look _stunning_.

“No, Nat, it’s fine, please sit down-“He begins to tell her.

“…and I can’t even stay!” she finishes on a huff.

“Oh.” was what he manages to utter. He didn’t mean to sound so dejected but who was he kidding, he was a little disappointed, and maybe a little hurt too.

“Steve,” she starts. “I’m so incredibly sorry about all of this. I need to go back to the dance studio because Madame Moreau insisted I learn this new choreography before the showcase this weekend and I couldn’t just, ah, just _shit_. I’m sorry.” she lets out, her head hanging in embarrassment and frustration.

He takes in all this information but manages to focus on only one because he couldn’t believe she would. “You mean you took off from practice just to say this to me?” he asks, incredulous that she would trek six blocks just to inform him that she wouldn’t be able to have coffee with him, or tea, or _whatever_.

“We’ll yeah, I couldn’t just let you wait for me without even explaining myself. I couldn’t let you think I was an asshole for ditching you. I mean we’ve had our trivial squabbles here and there but I never thought you were an asshole, _ever_.” She explains, as if it was the most obvious reason in the world and he couldn’t help but smile at her ridiculousness.

“Shouldn’t you just have called the coffee shop from the studio? I do believe they still make phone books, or directory assistance, maybe? And here I thought you were genuinely smarter than me.” He explains, shaking his head, clearly trying to get a rise out of her.

She stops and considers this for a moment as if rolling the idea around in her head which makes him laugh even more. “Oh, yeah. That.” she mumbles, but then she gazes back at Steve with feigned annoyance and lightly shoves him back. “Oh shut-up, Rogers,” promptly laughing along with him.

“It’s alright Natasha, really, don’t worry about it. These things happen. Maybe it was just bad timing,” He concedes, sipping the cold coffee in front of him. “Maybe some other day?” he tries, not wanting to end the failed “date” on a sour note.

He could see the determination in her face form instantaneously. “You know what, let’s do Tuesday!” she exclaims.

“Tuesday?”

“Yes, Tuesday,” like it was a done deal, “After the school paper meeting.”

Steve chuckles because the resolve on her face was enchanting. “You sure, I mean we can do it some other day, no pressure.” He assures her.

“No, definitely Tuesday.” She reiterates, her resolution even more apparent. “And I won’t take no for an answer, Steve.” She adds, her lips quirking into a smile.

“So you’re the one asking me out now?”

“What if I am?” she returns, mischief dancing in her eyes.

He feels his heart quicken at what she’d said and manages to reply, “Then I have no choice but to say yes.” His smile stretching from ear to ear.

She acknowledges his words and nods, and continues to beam at him, “Ok.” She says.

 “I will see you on Tuesday.” He agrees, his smile reflecting hers.

“So I guess I need to go now…” she mutters, playing with the straps of her back pack, as if she was hesitant to go just yet.

“I could walk you-“he suggests, his voice a little higher than usual.

 _Way to act cool, dipshit_ , he thinks.

She shakes her head, refusing his offer. “No, it’s fine. It’s bad enough I’m such a shit for leaving. Please stay.” she urges him.

“Natasha…” but before who could say anything more as she’s turned her back from him and was already making her way to the door.

He stares back at his cold cappuccino as she walks off but he doesn’t hear the shopkeeper’s bell ring, he looks up and the next thing he sees is her rushing back to his direction, a massive grin lighting up her whole face.

“Nat, what are you-?”

But he isn’t able to finish his sentence because she suddenly leans over him, her face just inches apart from his. She has this look to her, as if she was deciding on what to do. She was looking at him searchingly, like she could find all of the answers in his eyes and he is shaken by that look, by her _intensity_. She smiles at him sweetly, as if discovering a secret she wasn't allowed to know just yet and brings her hand to his shoulder, her lips closing in on his cheek. When he feels her lips graze his skin the first thing he thinks is how soft her lips were, how plush and smooth they were against his heated skin. He closes his eyes, the contact sends tingles throughout his face, he could feel it all the way to his fingertips and he thinks of himself as nuts to feel so much for one measly kiss on the cheek, but he does, because he feels like it’s a profession, a willingness for more.

When he opens them he sees her staring at him again, the corner of her lips upturned, her eyes playful and bright, she brings her hand to his face, her thumb gliding over the apples of his cheek and he shudders at the tenderness of the connection.

“Well I guess I couldn’t wait until Tuesday for this.” she says breathily, warmth welling from her eyes. He leans into her palm that was pressed to his cheek and he just chuckles, an exuberant sound straight from his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this particular scene. 
> 
>  


End file.
